


Out Of This World

by Lexigent



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley, Frankenstein - Nick Dear
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexigent/pseuds/Lexigent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s all wrong, but right now, Victor doesn’t care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out Of This World

  
Victor is barely outside the house when he hears the unmistakeable sounds of the Creature’s guttural laugh from his own bedroom. His heart starts beating faster as he grabs the door handle with his left and bursts into the room, already half-aware of what he will find within, the gun in his right cocked and at the ready.

Elizabeth is sprawled on the bed, lifeless. To Victor’s trained eyes, there can be no question as to what has happened here mere seconds ago. The Creature is laughing at him, his - its - hideous face made even more grotesque by the grimace, its mouth hanging open. Victor finds himself wondering if it feels pain - some of those sutures look like they’re ready to burst.

“On your knees.” The Creature doesn’t move an inch from its spot. It makes that face that Victor has learned to interpret as a smile: the left corner of the crooked, half-paralysed mouth twitching upwards.

“Victor Frankenstein, you are a marvellous creature.” Victor shivers. The Creature’s voice always makes his spine tingle. It’s an odd sensation.  
“Do you really believe your own words? Because I don’t,” the Creature says, pushing Elizabeth’s body to the floor in one stroke and spreading out on the bed. Victor’s breath is hitching in his throat, he blinks a few times, then advances, gun still pointed at the Creature, until he is close enough to reach out. The gun hits the floor as he touches the Creature’s fingertips. Locking eyes with it is like being back in the mountains, lying on his stomach and looking down a thousand-foot abyss to clear his mind from the conflicting emotions that plagued him. He closes his eyes and exhales, runs his fingers across the Creature’s palm, along the sutures on its wrist, his eyes flying open again as he grabs hold of the Creature’s calf with his other hand and runs his thumb along the stitches, his mouth drawn irresistibly towards the Creature’s skin.

He remembers the excitement he felt when he first embarked on the project, the titillation about having created a living being. He remembers each and every one of those stitches. A labour of love if ever there was one. But somewhere, somehow, it all went horribly wrong. It’s all wrong, but right now, Victor doesn’t care.

“You are all I desire,” he whispers into the Creature’s scalp. It tastes of salt and blood as he plants kiss after kiss along the ragged edges of skin flaps filched from graves, put back together with his own hands. The Creature underneath him is squirming, making undignified sounds at the pleasure of being touched, and, _God_ , he thinks, _this is something else_ , there is this burning _need_ inside him (and, he notes, it seems to have manifested itself on a physical plane in a rather determined fashion as well), and next thing he knows he’s out of his clothes and it’s all skin and sweat and heat.

 _Definitely something else_ is the next thought he remembers. He’s bruised and hurting - _God_ , so much pain, in places he never even knew people could hurt - but it’s the first time that he’s felt _anything_ in ages.

“You’re such a fool for wanting a _female_ companion. All you ever had to do is say the word.” Their voices in unison, like they’ve rehearsed this sentence, like they have a link on a supernatural plane. Victor knows the supernatural doesn’t exist, but he supposes the thought makes sense because what just happened was, by any definition of the word, _out_ of this _world_.  



End file.
